


Burned, Soothed

by Stariceling



Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-03
Updated: 2010-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-06 01:42:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stariceling/pseuds/Stariceling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after Darun's battle in episode 2. Arslan wants to speak to his champion. Just as well, because Darun wants no other company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burned, Soothed

**Author's Note:**

> This scene is something I've wanted to write since I first saw Arslan some nine or so years ago. While it's better then it might have been at that time, I still wonder if I'm actually expressing what I want. Either way, it's good to have this written, because that means I can finally break into this series that I've loved for so long!

Where Darun had prepared himself for the decisive battle with little more company than the thought of his young liege, he now found himself surrounded by a small harem. Darun had been rewarded beyond words to have his own companions rush out to meet him with prince Arslan at their head. There was nothing more he could possibly need to celebrate a victory.

Only now, when he would have liked to remove his armor and return his place at Arslan’s side, he found himself fussed over by strangers instead. Several unfamiliar maidens fluttered and chattered around him, like so many brightly colored birds. In spite of the differences in dress and accent he was strongly reminded of the flock of maidens that had always surrounding the queen, and very occasionally the young prince.

This was nothing like the spartan chambers below the Colosseum where he had waited. The dull roar of the crowd that had been muffled through stone was now exchanged for a clear tumult of celebration outside. Bare stone was replaced by finery. Solitude was superseded by prince Arslan close at hand and five maidens setting out food and wine and prettily bestowing polite attention upon both of them.

None of it would have made him particularly uncomfortable if not for the fact that they kept trying to help him off with his armor. The touch of delicate hands on blackened leather and metal seemed completely out of place.

Before Darun could try to wave those soft, interfering hands away, Arslan had dispersed them with a few firm words.

“I would like a moment alone with my champion.”

Darun turned and found Arslan was speaking to prince–or was it king now–Lajendra. There was an slight tension in his words, no matter how politely he spoke. Apparently every one of the maidens could read his mood, for they had delicately detached themselves from Darun without waiting to be asked.

Lajendra just laughed. “As you can see, I’ve returned him in one piece. It can’t be said I don’t return what I borrow.”

“Even so, I would like a moment” Arslan’s tone was like steel wrapped in silk, but with every word he seemed to add another layer of that silk called diplomacy until even Darun could hardly tell what lay under the smoothness of it. “Please enjoy the celebration without us.”

This last might have been unnecessary, judging by the cacophony of voices outside. There were cheers and screams as the crowd still massed in the Colosseum outside tried to outdo each other in pledging that they had always favored the gods’ chosen side. There were more than a few cries for their newly chosen ruler to show himself once more.

“Well, if my guest of honor doesn’t care to share the acclaim.”

If Lajendra was aware of that moment of tense atmosphere, he didn’t show it. He simply made his way out with one particularly comely maiden at his arm and the others following behind. Arslan was a bit more kind with the women as they drifted out, taking time to apologize and thank them.

As soon as the thick curtain had dropped across the doorway behind them, Arslan turned his full attention to Darun. The cool air of carefully built-up diplomacy faded in a moment, leaving behind only the all-too-familiar look that told him Arslan was troubled by something.

“Let me help you,” was all Arslan said to him at first.

Arslan’s hands were small, but strong. The callouses Arslan had earned by training with the sword made it feel natural for Darun to allow those hands to divest him of his armor, even if he could not forget that Arslan was his prince. He assisted Arslan in removing and setting aside the metal plates. He couldn’t simply stand there as if Arslan was a page assigned to that duty.

“You should not have had to face that battle,” Arslan said.

He lingered against Darun’s back even after he finished removing the armor, so that Darun could feel the warmth of one hand through his plain shirt. He was still be holding the last piece he had removed in the other. Darun hadn’t expected Arslan to still be distressed about him fighting another man’s battles, not after seeing the prince’s shining face in response to his victory.

“I would only have accepted that duel for your sake.”

“I had no right to ask you to risk your life alone.”

Darun turned, carefully took his armor from Arslan’s hands, and laid it aside. Before he could do more Arslan’s hands caught at his.

“This burn,” Arslan cried, staring into Darun’s palm. “How did this happen?”

“It’s nothing.”

The intervention of gods apparently did not come free. When lighting had struck his upraised sword Darun had found his hand scorched by the raw heat of it. It had taken all of his strength of will to land that last blow, his concentration so great that he couldn’t even flinch.

Arslan upturned one of the wide-rimmed bowls of fruit laid out on the table and grabbed a pitcher of water. He wasted no time in using the bowl to bathe Darun’s burned hand. If it had been anyone else Darun thought he might have jerked his hand back from sheer surprise. Instinct told him not to break Arslan’s grip.

Darun was surprised to see a tiny, almost bitter, twist of a smile on Arslan’s face as he poured cool water over the burn.

“I told Lajendra I would kill him if that monster so much as scratched you.”

That simple statement made a certain warmth rise in Darun’s chest. The devotion he felt toward his prince did make him susceptible to enjoying even the most simple reminders that Arslan valued him, though Arslan had never made a secret of that fact. He knew Arslan would not waste breath on idle threats. The thought that Arslan would have wanted to avenge his death made the idea of dying all at once less final and more painful.

“It was not my opponent,” Darun reassured his prince, because he wasn’t sure how to express his appreciation in words. “There is no need to terminate your hard-won alliance.”

“No alliance is worth losing you.”

That simple statement cast them both into silence. Darun looked down at his hand, cradled now in both of Arslan’s palms. He would not retrieve it until Arslan chose to let him go. His hand would belong to Arslan, even after it was released.

Arslan’s wrists and arms were tense, as if he were holding a great weight in his two hands. Darun knew this was a weight Arslan was capable of carrying on his own, but he still reached out to touch his free hand under Arslan’s wrists, offering his support. Weaving comfort out of words was not one of his strengths, and he knew it. How many ways could anyone find to say, ‘I will do anything for you,’ anyway? Actions were worth so much more.

Did Arslan know how clearly that sweet determination showed in his eyes? When Arslan was absolutely committed to something, he glowed with that conviction. It was the same look that Darun had kept in his mind’s eye as he prepared for battle.

“I will never be lost, as long as you need me.”

Darun had intended it as a reassurance, but the words seemed to twist into something else as soon as he said them. At the same time, they remained true.

Whichever meaning Arslan took from those words, they seemed to calm him. It wasn’t only that he voiced no more doubts, because the expression in his eyes and the softened set of his mouth spoke for him. Arslan was at ease as he bathed the burn on Darun’s hand with a careful touch.

That moment couldn’t last long. Arslan made up his mind to fetch a proper doctor to see to Darun’s hand, in spite of reassurances that it didn’t hurt any longer. Once again Darun found himself with no more than the thought of his young liege for company.


End file.
